John Sciacca Writes...
Random Thoughts (Blog)
Random Thoughts (Blog)
Random Thoughts (Blog)
|Posted on January 12, 2011 at 1:49 PM|
...is totally NOT Folger’s in your cup. At home, we have an awesome, super-wonderful, borderline magic fairy and elves powered Saeco Royal Professional super-automatic espresso machine. It grinds, tamps, brews and disposes of beans one delicious cup at a time.
In Alabama, Dana’s sister and her husband drink coffee not so much. So, when we arrived their coffee cupboards were desolate and bare. Miah volunteered to go and get some coffee for us to make the mornings a little more bearable, so he picked up some 100% Colombian, “Distinctively Rich,” “Mountain Grown” Folgers. And with no respect to Senor Valdez or the Colombian coffee grower’s society, I would describe the flavor of Folgers thusly: Place several old, coppery pennies into the bottom of a cup. Then take several D-cell batteries. Cut them in half. Find a way to squeeze the battery juice out and express into a cup. Put in enough iodine to stain the glass brown. Then microwave and enjoy.
The brew has initial, top notes of bitterness and soured lemon making you immediately question your resolve for needing a cup of coffee and whether you should continue through with the whole swallowing procedure. This initial wave of uncertainty is quickly replaced by heavy mid-notes of smelted copper and iron ore and the urge to confirm that you actually scooped coffee grounds into the machine and not saw dishwasher crystals. This is followed by a lingering, mouth puckering finish of disappointment and sadness mixed with a bit of self regret and loss of hope. But, like not-quite-fast Internet, beggars can't be choosers, and Folgers is what we’ve got and so I’ve been gutting my way through a 4-cup pot. With a smile on my face and happy to have it, thank you very much.
Lauryn has been dying to see the new Disney movie, Tangled. This is the first time that she has actually been fully and completely and totally successfully marketed to. From the first commercial, she was mesmerized. And started saying she was Rapunzel and her hair was long like Rapunzel and how she wants to live in a tower, etc. So, I thought yesterday would be the perfect day to take Lauryn and her two cousins, Kinsley (a 9 year old who, you might recall, lost a little wager with me over cell phone camera technology) and Holden. So we packed them all up in the car and headed to the theater. Excitement level was high. Promises of Coke and popcorn were made. The afternoon’s plans were secured. Then we arrived for the 2:00 show to find.... ”THEATER IS CLOSED DUE TO INCLEMENT WEATHER AND POOR ROAD CONDITIONS.”
I was expecting a sudden, instant and unrecoverable meltdown of world ending proportions, but thankfully I was able to gracefully compose myself. And the kids dealt with it pretty well too. So we went to Redbox and picked up a couple of movies and popcorn for the kids and headed back home. (Followed by a 30 minute or so wait in the car while Miah realized he didn’t have his keys and we sat in the 33 degree weather for Keely to bring the keys to let us in.)
So why the kids were upstairs watching those movies, Miah and I dipped back into his stash. This time for some Eastwood from his “35 Years, 35 Films” collection. There were so many great titles to choose from – though not quite the 35 that you’d expect; we wrote off the Any Which Way movies and Honky Tonk Man and Pink Cadillac and things that no two dudes have any business watching together like Bridges of Madison County – that we had a bit of trouble narrowing it down, but finally settled on a title that neither of us had seen, White Hunter Black Heart. I mean, sounds like a typical Clint “Do you feel lucky, Punk?” type film promising some ruthless, no remorse, big gun killin’. But very early into the film, Miah and I started questioning our decision. This wasn’t the movie we were expecting. This was way less Dirty Harry and way more Dandy Harry. The whole thing felt like stage acting like we were watching thea-tah, live thea-tah. (I kept thinking about Bart Simpson’s quote when he rented the he-didn’t-know-it-was-a-musical, Paint Your Wagon. “Yeah, paint it with blood!” Except, no. There was singing. They were gonna paint that wagon. With plain old, regular paint. They were gonna paint it fine.) I’m going to give Clint the benefit of the doubt and just assume that it would have gotten better, but we decided to cut our losses about 15 minutes in and switch gears to a known winner; The Outlaw Josey Wales. Before the credits had even finished, it was clear we’d made the right decision. The lucky decision.